Dec10, Lord of the Rings, Denethor/Thorongil, A Mettarë Gift
Title: A Mettarë GiftFandom: Lord of the RingsPairing: Denethor/Thorongil (Aragorn)Rating: generalNote: Teenyfic (359 words) written for telperion1 for holiday 2007.

Denethor had had very little choice in the matter. When he heard that Thorongil had volunteered to take guard duty on Mettarë, to free one of the common soldiers to spend the holiday with his family or with his comrades in roistering celebration, he had felt obliged to make a similar gesture.

So here they were, pacing together in the chill early hours of the morning, despite the suspicion, even dislike, that Denethor had long felt for the man who was treated far too well by the Steward Ecthelion for a nameless wanderer from nowhere, come though he might have done with all praise from the King of Rohan.

"How is Mettarë commonly celebrated in Gondor?" Thorongil asked suddenly. "I would like to know."

"Much as it is in any realm of men, I suppose," said Denethor, startled into near-cordiality. "A special meal, an exchange of gifts between family and friends. Is it not the same in your homeland?"

Thorongil did not quite answer, saying, "I have not lived in the home of my foster-father for many years. There are few with whom I would wish to celebrate, but I regret that I have no gift for you. I respect and esteem you most highly, my lord."

Staring, Denethor said, "It is not required that you give me a gift, son of the Steward though I be. I have none for you, either; I had never suspected you might wish such an exchange."

Thorongil paused in their ceaseless pacing of the battlements. "There is a gift we might exchange, if you wished."

"And what might that be?"

For answer, Thorongil stepped closer and pressed his lips to Denethor's. When Denethor made no move to resist or step away, Thorongil's arms went around him and his tongue flickered over Denethor's lips, coaxing them open and sliding inside to explore.

The treacherous heat that flooded Denethor's body at Thorongil's touch robbed his voice of steadiness, yet when the kiss ended, he managed to say, "You risk much, doing so."

The smile that Thorongil gave him was difficult to read: lazy, triumphant, shy. "A man in my position must take risks, sometimes."